In Twelve Seconds
by Life'sLittleMisfit
Summary: A story from one to twelve of Pietro and Wanda. Rated T to be safe.


One.

He had been born first, though only by a mere twelve seconds. He payed this minor detail no thought, becoming the older brother seemingly years older that always protected his little sister, no matter the cost. They were always equals however, the time spent in the womb together creating an inseparable tie that bound them closer than any lovers or friends could ever hope for, restrengthening their love and commitment through a single look. He was her _brother_.

They had severed the tie, they had stolen her brother.

Two.

They had both been born to war, their father a low ranking soldier with no badges to his name, their mother a nurse who had saved his life. War brought them together, war sent a missile into their apartment. War killed their parents, war gave them a purpose. They would fight on the streets, fight for the needs of others instead of themselves. It was their voice that was being restricted, and they were going to make damn sure that it would be heard.

It had been heard in the end, the eyes and the smirk that couldn't quite form on his lips, the ' _Betcha didn't see that coming'_ that saved a boy and killed a brother.

War would be what took her heart.

Three.

They had gone to jail once, caught in the square protesting. She knew that he could have run, and would have made it too. He had always been a fast runner, though she never would have gotten passed the soldiers. She had known this, as did he. And so he stayed. Held her hand until the moment they were torn apart, and even then, he screamed and kicked and desperately struggled to get back to his little sister. After all, who else was going to protect her?

She cried when she saw him next, face bloodied and swollen, one eye purple and closed, the ever present smirk now a soft and bittersweet smile. His reasoning was no more than ' _they wouldn't let me see you'_ , but she swore to herself her brother would never get hurt again on her account.

Of course, he never listened.

Four.

There had been a time when he thought that he had found love, a tall, beautiful girl that was perfect for him in every way. She wonders now what could have happened if he didn't look back for her. He could be married, a husband, a father, with happy children at his feet in a small, cozy apartment like the one they used to know. But he had looked back, had seen his little sister with the hurt and lonely look in her eyes, betrayed and haunted by the idea that her brother would choose a lifetime of love and happiness over one spent with her. He loved her too, she knew, but never in that way. Terrified of which love he would pick, he wiped her tears away and hugged her fiercely, promising to never let her go. They were all they had ever had, and he was never going to give up that bond for a fleeting chance at a feeling that he already felt.

Sisterly and brotherly love could not describe the link that they shared, but even though she did not love him in that way, she still knew what it meant when they said heartbreak. Only this was a thousand times worse. It was not a companion that she had lost, but her family, her _everything_. And she could never get him back.

Five.

They were promising a better life, she realized. They were making the same pledge the government used in their falsified speeches, the same phony promise phrased under new words. _We can help you help them, you can be heroes_. She wanted to protest against the empty message, these men wanted soldiers, not saviors. But her brother took her hand and she saw in his eyes the hope and determination, that he wanted what these men promised even if their intentions were not true. A better life for the two who had lived on the streets their entire lives, a way to stop the endless running they had been subjected to. It was an experiment, not even a guarantee, but her brother's eyes yearned for this possibility, so she opened her mouth and secured it.

She wished she hadn't spoken up, for she knew that he never would have agreed to anything she didn't want. But this had been what he wanted...he had always wanted to be the hero, but she had never wanted the reality that came with it.

Six.

It hurt, with deep, agonizing pain. She could feel it inside her, the magic and her body fighting, warring with each other over which would be victorious. Hot tongues of fire as the magic won, the deep, billowing torture as it took her over. She could not control it, tried to warn him as she convulsed on the lab table, but he took her hand anyway. His own eyes were rimmed with dark bags, and she had heard him moaning during the night as his own treatment took effect. She flinched with him every time a streak of red light left her body to hit his, cried out with him when his pain was too much to keep in. _Never letting go_ , the promise in his eyes as he grit his teeth and pushed beyond the torment.

 _Never letting go_.

Seven.

They turned his hair white, and her's became hinted with red. He would use to joke that he was elderly now, and therefore she had to listen to everything he said. Of course, she would have already followed him and his sarcastic wit to the ends of the Earth, no matter what cause or rational he believed in, and behind the humorous moments would be the caught gaze, the affirmation that they would be ever inseparable, intertwined in everything they would do. Twelve seconds or one hundred years would never alter this fact, he was her brother, and she his sister. Two pieces of the same beating heart, forever held true.

It still beat now, a jagged piece of what used to be whole and had now been torn apart in a way time only could heal.

 _You_ _ **promised.**_

Eight.

She saw the man whose name had been written upon that projectile and felt the rage forming from deep within her. It overcame her body in a red and pinkish haze, circling her fingertips as she strode forwards. _Mama_ , her heart cried, _Papa. This is for you._

She did not feel the same rage when she avenged her dear brother. Ripping out the robot's heart gave her a dim sense of cruel satisfaction, though her mind and heart were still spinning, desperately disbelieving what she knew was truth. She felt empty when the red swirled around her once more. ' _It felt like that'_. No, not quite accurate. It felt like she had been left behind, heartbroken, crushed inside and out and all that was left of her was a shell.

The life inside his corpse was gone, and it seemed that he had taken her's as well.

Nine.

The selfish desire that the archer had perished with the child.

 _My brother, my brother_. _Where did you go?_

How many years together had they spent, how many times had they protected one another, how many times was 'I love you' not enough to describe the significance behind a single touch?

His body was full of holes, and now, so was she.

Ten.

She could not stop crying. The tears would dry and leave her hollow, but her heart continued to scream and wail and protest against the injustice which had occurred. He was all she had ever had, she had given him everything possible, her trust, her love, her unwavering loyalty. Years spent together only had forged them closer than anyone else could hope, and within a few moments, she watched him smile at her and run away, only to feel the piercing pain inside of her that came with the harrowing realization.

She felt lost, where was she without him, _what_ was she without him? She was no longer a twin, no longer a sister, and her best friend, the person she would give up anything for, was buried beneath the frozen ground.

Eleven.

The sense of freedom at last, the sense of finding their purpose and role within the world.

They were heroes now, making a difference in the live of others.

He had been the real hero that day, willing to give what the others could not, the ultimate sacrifice.

She couldn't help but think that none of it made much difference now, for it was always him who had the inherent goodness inside of him, but he was gone now, wasn't he? They would never know him, never see more than a fleeting life and a blur of light, would not remember nor revere his name. _Quicksilver, the hero._ No, she wanted Pietro, the brother.

Twelve.

" _I'm not going to leave you here."_

" _ **I can handle this."**_

But in the end, she couldn't.

* * *

 **Always,**

 **Misfit**


End file.
